The Chronicles of Firefly: Redeemer
by UtopiaV1
Summary: ExIndependance trooper Phillips, now the captain of the TransU ship 'Redeemer', is a freelancer. Takes any jobs he can get, and especially ones that will annoy the Alliance. Similar to captain Renyolds, right? Heh, just wait! Destiny has a sense of irony.
1. Chapter 1

**NB: Everything below that you recognise from the TV series 'Firefly', including all intellectual and actual material, is property of Mutant Enemy Inc. and 20th Century Fox Entertainment yadda yadda yadda… Well, if that doesn't satisfy the Alliance, I don't know what will…**

**The Chronicles of Firefly: Redeemer**

**---------------------**

**Chapter 1: Don't Look in the Presents**

It was late in the day cycle. Captain Phillips stifled a yawn, and drew the seat closer to the control console, his face illuminated by the variety of colourful glows coming from various equipment sensors and screens. This old tub of his didn't even have any radiation scanners, let alone a caffeine dispenser to hook himself up to. It looked like he was going to have to stay awake the hard way. His 7-shot 305 cal. Warrick & Warrick revolver was perched precariously on his lap, with a cleaning cloth and dust brush lying on top of the finely crafted pistol. This was the only thing he truly treasured, well, the only material object he truly treasured. Not his Trans-U transport ship '_Redeemer_', not his large collection of captured Alliance equipment stored in the coolant compartment under his bed, not his 17th edition ICE-Breaker for hooking up to the Central Cortex, but his own personal firearm. To him, it was more than a weapon; it was an extension of his arm, able to deliver 'necessary force' up to, and including, one and a half miles away. Not that he ever would, he preferred to fight toe-to-toe, to see his enemy in the flesh and 'feel' their moves and strategies. Only cowards fight from a hillside a mile away from their enemy, and cowardice is not the way to win a battle. Ten years in the Independence Mechanised Infantry taught him that…

Gus wandered into the control room from the corridors that lead to the main cargo bay. He had sharp black hair, and even sharper black eyes. His white shirt contrasted sharply, and he looked far too snobbish for its grubby character. He held a data bulletin sheet in one hand and a cigar in the other. He was obviously sick of working and needed to let off some steam by telling the Captain just what was wrong with his plan this time, and was tradition every time they did a below-legal job.

"Gus… smoking… bad… don't…" Phillips murmured, tired of going over the same speech over and over with him. Not only did he not like the smoke, but it caused the air filters to break twice as quick. But Gus never listened, and now Phillips was just lecturing him to annoy Gus and amuse himself.

"Everything's accounted for… well, crate wise it is. I didn't look inside, I definitely didn't see the _illegal_ laser weapons we are transporting to Waterville, which definitely _don't_ look very expensive and worth our lives 100 times over!" He autonomously regurgitated. Some cigar ash dropped onto the deck.

"Good, because if you did, our employers wouldn't look too kindly on that. In fact, they might even decide that our heads and a nail on their wall go quite well together." Phillips was sick of Gus looking down on him, was sick of the old stifled air of pompousness around him, but maybe his shadiness most of all. He didn't see how this slightly short, almost creepy, dark haired snake could murder his parents just to get his hands on their credit details. He seemed more like the school snitch than an unsuccessful assassin. Gus began to retort.

"Crude and un-amusing, Phillips. Oh, posti scriptum, Tammi wants a word with you. Says that Nolan wants his engine parts yesterday, and she needs the funds to subscribe them before we reach Waterville Docks." There were so many grammatical and syntactical errors in that over-complicated announcement that Phillips didn't have time to correct him. And Gus didn't even say 'sir'. That still pissed Phillips off.

"Right, I'll go talk to her. Meanwhile, you can wander down to the airlock and try to get that faulty aerial to open up from the outside. Then report back…" As Gus left to perform his new duties, Phillips remembered the only reason why he hired that arrogant bastard. _At least he's hard working_. For a rich kid, he certainly did believe in the value of manual labour, and did almost any task Phillips asked him to, so long as it wasn't life threatening…

Swivelling back to the control yoke and its surrounding instruments, he glimpsed at a faint heat flutter on his short range sensors. Centring in for a closer look, the reader showed not just one, but two, medium sized long range patrol vessels, obviously Alliance, pathetically trying to hide in his engine wake. They were only a few miles back, and closing slowly. Activating the in-ship com on the wall, he yelled:

"We're being followed. Tammi, secure the loose cargo. Nolan, get in the engine room, maximise power in the evasive thrusters. Gus, when you get outside, try throwing yourself into space to get their attention and get them off our tail." He was met with affirmatives from all the crew, except Gus who gave a colourful rendition of 'go to hell'.

The fighters closed in, now aware that they had been spotted by the accelerating ship. The missile pods on their stubby wings swung down, and the four sets of three particle-missiles lit up, their glowing red lights like angry tiger eyes. _Redeemer_ veered up, towards the ring of ice around a gas giant above them. Its three rear thrusters were glaring red like the missiles racks' big brother. She swung left to avoid a fast moving ice asteroid, and then slowly banked deeper into the belt. The two fighters were in close pursuit, pelting round the jagged clumps of frozen rock. They fired off their first volley of missiles. Explosions rippled across a large asteroid that the Trans-U had ducked behind. Chunks of ice were thrust away from their mother, which the Alliance fighters dodged with difficulty. A small boulder scraped a wing. The fighter recovered from the shock, but not before having to stop in front of a large ice asteroid, and reverse to swing around. By then, it was way too far behind to catch up again. The other fighter was closing the gap. Phillips was having a hard time trying to dodge rockets and asteroids, and his left thruster was starting to strain. He couldn't keep it up.

"Gus, we still got those empty crates from our last job?" Phillips yelled down the intercom.

"I believe so Phillips, do you want me to hide in one of them?"

"Just chuck 'em out the rear airlock and give those fascists something else to worry about…"

The fighter tailing the _Redeemer_ fired another salvo at her, which managed to scrape her hull and implode a few dozen metres to her front-port side. In retaliation, the _Redeemer_'s rear hatch opened, and a few steel crates shot out into the vacuum. The fighter pilot swerved sharply to avoid them, thinking they might be mined. Nothing happened. He redoubled his efforts and sped up again, firing off more missiles. More trash shot out his target. He simply sped right past him, veering slightly to avoid a crate shooting straight at him. Arming his only EMP homing torpedo, the fighter prepared to fire its disabling rocket at Phillips ship. More crates were thrown out its rear. This time, one crate seemed to glow. The fighter pilot squinted at it. A huge flash, like a nuclear bomb exploding in heaven, blinded him, causing him to scream until his ears hurt. He jabbed the missile launch button with his thumb. The smart bomb jetted towards the _Redeemer._ Phillips desperately tried to shake it, but it swerved around all obstacles, and finally detonated next to the ships engines. Everyone was thrown forward from whatever they were doing, the blast wave causing the ship to spiral out of the asteroid belt. Everything went dead. Phillips groaned groggily in his cockpit, collapsed over the controls. He hit the emergency restart button, and red lights flickered into life. Backup power was on, but it would be a long time until the thrusters were online again. He looked at the rear view camera. One of the fighters had now docked on top of the other, and both were doing an emergency dock with Phillip's ship. A dull thud shook him awake. He hit the intercom.

"Ahh… Gus, Tammi, Nolan, get your weapons and get to docking hatch two…"

He picked his own weapon off the deck, and staggered out of the cockpit. He took a left down the corridor, and met Tammi coming up from the cargo bay. She was dressed in dark black leathers of a pilot, breeches hanging by her sides, blonde hair cut short. She held up her shortened MP-90 to her chest, to show Phillips she was armed. Gus was a little behind her, a large bump on his head, and an ornate shotgun in his hands. They took a right, and ran past the crews cabins. At the junction which led to the engine room and hatch two, they took up firing positions and got some cover. Nolan got to them just in time. His mucky orange overalls so heavy greased they looked brown, and his Type-11 Berretta slipping around in his hands.

"Ready for fun, C'ptain!" He grinned. The hatch blew open, and two figures burst through, firing steady bursts from their sub-machine guns. Everyone, including Phillips, ducked behind their cover. Tammi fired blind around her cover, and then Nolan did the same. Gus was busy loading his weapon. The flashes from the guns hurt Phillips' eyes combined with the dim red lighting. He dared a quick look around at the attackers. The two pilots were standing behind the hatch edges, occasionally jumping out to fire back. One took out a small metal cylinder and was just about to press a red button on top. Phillips propped his pistol on his left arm and squeezed off a shot at the man's hand. A flourish of crimson painted the wall behind him, and he dropped the grenade. Phillips then shot the other pilot in the head, and made sure the wounded man wouldn't get up by blasting his kneecaps. All firing stopped. Phillips walked over to the screaming pilot on the ground. He was trying to hold his wounded hand with his good one, and hold his knees with his wounded hand. He was losing a lot of blood.

"Why are you here?" Asked Phillips calmly, although he already had a fairly good inkling.

"Screw you!" The man managed to shout through his helmet, the visor hiding his face. Phillips stepped on his knee, then asked again. It was no good, the man had passed out from the pain. Phillips removed the helmet, and then turned to his now adrenaline-filled crew.

"Tammi, take him to the infirmary, get some foam-bandage for his wounds, then stay with him 'til he wakes up. Gus, check their fighters and scavenge what you can get. Nolan, get us moving. They're sure to send more."

"It'll take about an hour or two, C'ptain, so long as you don't make me shoot anything again." Nolan strolled off to the engine room, and Gus ran off into the fighters. Tammi stood by Phillips for a minute.

"Think it's the guns they're after, sir?" Her strong frontier accent soothing Phillips ears.

"If they're guns at all. There're way too many crates for a few dozen laser weapons. It's probably drugs or something, a little job on the side for these dirty feds. But we won't find out 'til he wakes up." Phillips nudged the man with his foot. He threw the dead man back in the fighters, and helped Tammi take the wounded man to the infirmary. Gus was actually right for once, this job was a bad idea.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Chronicles of Firefly: Redeemer**

**-------------------------**

**Chapter 2: Waterville**

The remainder of the journey was uneventful, except for the interrogation. Phillips left the fighters spinning in high orbit over the gas giant they had fought above. Gus had managed to scavenge a few missiles (to sell, obviously… the _Redeemer_ was a transport vessel) and also a new fuel injector, which Nolan had creatively fitted into the primary thrusters of the ship. Tammi had brought the captured pilot to the medical bay, and stopped the bleeding with foam-bandage. Her and Phillips waited for him to recover consciousness in his own time. When he finally came to, Tammi had left the room to pilot the ship around a tricky debris field. It was just Phillips, the pilot, and a case of scalpels and other sharp medical instruments.

"Can you tell me more than suggestions for what I should do to myself this time?" Phillips asked the pilot, strapped to the surgery chair and pumped full of muscle relaxants.

"Screw you!" He groggily spouted.

"Excellent, we've gotten absolutely nowhere… Well, I'm not going to lie to you, or sugar-coat this for you. I am going to torture you now. I am going to cut some new scars into you, and you will scream in writhing agony, not able to stop me or escape from me. The tools we used to put you back together are going to cause you to curse your own mother for giving birth to you. Do you understand?"

"Screw your mother!" The pilot shouted, a little more awake now.

"Fantastic, we've gotten from 'screw me' to 'screw my mother'. Your wit and intelligible insults is astounding. How 'bout we start the torture by cutting off your other hand? Would you enjoy that? Or do you want me to cut off another part of your… anatomy?" Phillips moved towards the case of knives.

"I'm not telling you anything. It won't matter anyway, you and me are gonna die soon anyway. As soon as my employers find out I've failed, they'll send more to get you. You don't stand a chance." The pilot struggled against the restraints. Phillips lifted a large cutting laser from the medical bag.

"Ahha, now we are heading somewhere. You feeling a mite more talkative now? So, who are your employers, and what do they want with my ship?"

"Screw you…"

"Oh dear, we've descended back into vulgar territory. Well, I have no excuse not to do this now…" Phillips lifted the cutting laser just above the pilots' other arm. The intensely bright red laser flicked back and forth along the instrument as it was dangled closer and closer to his only hand he had left. He tried to struggle, but the muscle relaxant was so powerful, it rendered the restraints almost unneeded. He tried to scream. The laser burnt an elongated slit in his suit, and started to sizzle his flesh. The wound smelled like burnt bacon. Phillips could tell from the expression on the pilots face that the scolding was more than he could handle. He took the cutter away carefully from the pilot's wrist. No blood came out of it, the laser had caused it to fuse almost immediately.

"I don't want to have to do that again…" Phillips stated as he put down the saw on a nearby table. The pilots face was scrunched in agony.

"Are you going to be social now?" Phillips asked, leaning against the surgery chair. The pilot slowly looked around at him, the pain starting to numb.

"The crates you are carrying… well… they're not quite what you think they are…"

"Is that so? So what's in them?"

"Most are fitted with small explosives just in case you try to look in them, but one is carrying a very… special package. It is important to my employers. That is all you are getting out of me…" The pilot spat at Phillips.

"Well, that is something. Care to tell me which crate it is that this 'special package' is in?" Phillips whispered, leaning a little closer.

"Go screw youself."

"Well, you've been very un-cooperative and irritating. We're going to set down on Waterville in just under 30 minutes, and we're going to dump your ass in the middle of one of the more… deserted stretches of nowhere. Enjoy this hospitality while you can…" Phillips walked out of the room, leaving the pilot to struggle with his restraints.

**-------------------------**

"Which port shall we land at, sir?" Tammi was just breaking atmosphere when Phillips wandered into the cockpit. He had a look at all the crates, but none seemed to be especially marked or looked out of place. He didn't dare open any.

"We're not. At least, not just yet. Set down in the remotest spot of nowhere you can find so we can drop off our passenger…" Tammi set the ship on auto-decent and swivelled around on her chair.

"Sir, that's cold blooded, even for you… sir." Phillips looked with mild interest at the friction fire rushing past the cockpit window as the ship descended towards the planet.

"Well, he tried to kill me and my crew. The fact that we're leaving him alive is a kindness you don't get with many of our… kind of people." The fires were being reflected in Phillips' eyes.

"Well, what did he tell you?" Tammi asked, leaning on her knees.

"It took a while, and a third degree burn on his remaining hand, but he told me that the crates we're carrying don't actually carry laser weaponry. Each one has a 'small explosive' hidden away in case we sneak a peak, except for one which has some sort of special goods, important to his employers. I guess we're taking it away from them, and they want it back." Tammi nodded slowly.

"Thought this cargo was suspicious. So, we finish the job?" Phillips crossed his arms and pointed at the map of the planet on the nav-screen.

"We set down that meat puppet here, swoop round that small incline in the desert there a few miles away from him, and set down. Then I'll figure out how to get a look at this mysterious package…" Tammi nodded, turning back to the ship controls. Her cropped blonde hair swayed slightly. Phillips physically stopped himself from reaching out and stroking it. A relationship with any crewmember would be a bad idea… well, that just means Tammi, seeing as though Phillips wasn't sly. As far as he knew, anyway…

_Redeemer_ touched down in a desolate piece of nowhere, with all the grace and gentleness of a hovering herd of cows. The rear hatch opened, and a single figure was forcibly ejected from the space craft. He tumbled about a metre or so away from the ramp, which slowly arched back into the Trans-U. The force of landing on his broken knees caused the pilot to shake the whole sand plain with his agonising cries. The _Redeemer_ lifted off, and jetted far into the horizon, disappearing behind a large sand/rock dune. The pilot was left on the ground, clawing at the pain in his legs, and cursing the very name of Captain Phillips.

One by one, each crate was removed from Phillips' ship. The crew carried each neck-high crate between two of them, Gus and Nolan pairing up on one, and Phillips and Tammi on another. As the Captain and Gus passed each other, Phillips looked questioningly at him.

"I thought you looked in these crates?" He asked. Gus simply walked back into the ship.

"I don't always lie to you, Phillips. I was telling the truth when I said I didn't look in them." Gus heaved up another crate with Nolan's help at the other side of it.

"Yea, but… well, I've got say, I'm impressed at your self-restraint!" Phillips shouted back as he and Tammi staggered away with a container into the desert.

"Alright, keep your dick in your pants…" Gus murmured. Nolan pretended not to hear.

Finally, all crates were lined up neatly about 30 paces away from the ship, at 5 pace intervals. There were a dozen in all. Everyone just stood at the end of the ship's ramp, looking. Phillips pulled out his gun in a quick draw and shot the first crate on the left with expert precision. The sudden bang made everyone jump. The crate burst into a fireball, debris lazily spinning up into the air and down to the ground. Everyone just stared at Phillips. Phillips looked round back at them, his green eyes looking innocently at his crew.

"What?" he answered. Gus crossed his arms, and looked back at the crates.

"I just thought you might have a subtler way of doing this, Phillips." Gus drummed his fingers on his arm. Nolan chipped in, still a little dazed.

"Yea, sir, I mean… you could have just asked me to scan each crate!" Phillips shot the next crate. It made the crew jump again. The explosion knocked something onto the floor inside the _Redeemer_.

"No, Nolan. We don't know what type of mechanism they have rigged to the crates to set off the bombs. A scanner might just do the trick, and I still need you… My left thruster is broken, and I need it fixed before we take our next job." Phillips shot the next crate. It did the same as the first two. His crew didn't seem as surprised this time. Nolan ran his hand down the front of his face. Phillips shot the next crate, and the next crate, and the crate after that. The next crate he shot did not explode like all the others. Instead, a pair of neat holes punctured straight through the upper half of it, letting light slice into the darkened wooden box. Phillips holstered his gun and strode over to this odd one out. Tammi followed hesitantly. Flexing his arms, Nolan raced after them. Gus just sat down on the ships ramp, brushing dust off his black trousers.

Phillips reached the crate, and rolled up his sleeves. He looked back at Tammi and Nolan standing behind him, and Gus sitting contently at the ship. Phillips didn't look at all surprised. He wiggled his arms, and got to one side of the lid while Nolan got to the other side. Heaving upwards, they struggled to get lift the lid off, whilst Tammi pulled out a small crowbar from her black leather belt pouch attached to her right side. With all three forces combined, the lid creaked off the top of the box, and fell behind it, leaning at a slant against its parent. The dust it kicked up obscured everyone's vision, as they all craned forward to look inside. Gus came racing up to budge Tammi aside a little and look himself. She gave him a scolding look, he simply frowned back. They turned back to the container. All four stared inside the dark crate, waiting for the dust to settle. Gus suddenly piped up…

"I hope its drugs!"

The ensuring silence was uncomfortable for all. Finally, a shape seemed to be becoming visible. They all leaned forward…


End file.
